from city to pasture.

I savoured my time out of traffic, out of my (great but still a car) yaris, out of the bustle and the anxious rushing. Savoured drinking coffee out of beloved ceramic instead of metal to-go mugs.

I seeded more broccoli trays, some more squash pods, and the flower seeds I never seem to get to. I’ve willed myself to believe that it’s not too late. I may be wrong.

I took in the garden and grounds that I’ve had such high hopes for but have felt heavy about abandoning these past months.

I used birthday funds this year (merci pépé et maman!) to buy a fair amount of trees for around the house–our home yard is quite wide open, which has made me realize just how much I love trees. I feared a number of them hadn’t made it given the lack of watering and, let’s say it, care. But they’ve all grown substantial foliage save for three. I so appreciate the resilience of nature.

My half of the garden isn’t as barren as I’d been fearing either (so I stopped my frantic calls to all of the garden centres, confident that the year’s brassica harvest will see us through). Given our competitive natures (and our strong desire for excellent yields), P and I decided to have a vegetable garden contest whereby we each have 3 sections and we compete for victory–we’ve together established desired yields for each section as well as general principles for extra points (such as successive planting, rotations, cover cropping, frugality, etc.) It feels good knowing I can still win.

What I’m looking forward to most though is spending slow time with these two humans. Spending eleven hours a day away from this home and my family took a toll–on connections and patience and a sense of knowing where these kids are at.

So while this isn’t exactly how I thought this great off-farm adventure would go, I’m at peace and full of gladness for where I’m at.

I’ve been working off farm for three weeks now. It’s been a good shift for me. The hour-long commute was getting heavy, but I then discovered the joy of the audiobook. Having completed one for every week of work thus far, I’m looking forward to the months ahead. To shift the kid to adult book ratio to my read list.

While it’s hard to be away from the kids, the artefacts that they leave behind at the end of the day–the miscellaneous duplo and lego constructions, the bits of written letters and words, the mountains of minuscule paper clippings, the 300+ puzzle pieces, that is: every single kids puzzle we own completed on the living room floor — are evermore heartwarming.

The real family bonus though is that, since starting this job, I’ve started overhearing the kids speaking dutch together. I was so hoping that more home time with P. would make dutch more of a langue d’usage for them. And it has.

Also, P. has taught himself to play dozens of kids’ songs on our new piano, which means that our youngest, who already broke into song at least a dozen times a day, now does so even more. The cuteness is almost unbearable.

And in this empowering, emboldening yet existentially exhausting #MeToo moment, where women are seizing this groundswell of a moment, are speaking up and denouncing and holding their parties to account as every second day it seems a new member of parliament resigns because allegations of sexual assault or harrassment come to light,

I get to work alongside committed and seasoned feminist activists. It’s so very good for the soul.

Realising that a change of pace and a feeling of bread-winning would do wonders for my confidence, I started looking for work. The exercise was fascinating. It gave me a lot of energy. And while writing cover letters is never very pleasant there’s something about taking the time to imagine your life in many different configurations, and in being forced to talk up your trajectory and skills, that made me feel more solid and resilient despite some blows.

I found a job working four days a week with a very feminist team. I’m really looking forward to it (and also really hoping that this change won’t be too much of a weight on my supportive partner, who’ll be full-time farming on top of doing more of the daycare+school pick ups and school bus coordinating).

I received words that cut really deep before the holidays and I’ve had an embarrassingly hard time trying to shake them. They encompassed the whole and the whole ordeal sowed such deep doubt. It’s been a lot of trying to find my way out of a rabbit hole, wondering if someone else can be righter about me and my experiences than I am. There have been strong moments of Of course not. but the doubt and anxiety linger.

After witnessing a messy kind of e-exchange a few months earlier, I had committed to not penning long cathartic emails when human interactions get strained and challenging. I’m so grateful for the lesson. I’ve tried to make non-violent communication and compassionate patience more of a practice since having kids (and since being faced with the very real and surprising challenges of existing as a hetero- nuclear family in a rural/frugal/farm setting). The practice isn’t perfect. Neither is my communication. But in an effort to let go of the funk, I am recommitting to it for 2018.

I’m committing to more quiet reflection and to more movement.

To more sharing of the joy that is.

Committing too to continuing the reflection on what it means to try to grow your assertiveness as someone who’s been conditioned to ‘be nice’ at all cost; what it means to set clear boundaries and to take up space in relationships where it’s hard, where it’s unwelcome and challenged.

Committing to work on fostering less needlessly critical ways of being. To limit its intake and out-take both from within and from out.

I’m going to let the women pals who support me and teach me kindness, self-compassion and steadfastness know just how much I fucking love them.

Take time to be truly and utterly wow-ed by my eldest who is (entre autres) WRITING WORDS. Tout seul! Beautifully and phonetically. And by my youngest who is such a delightful ray of sunshine that I tear up daily thinking about how unbearably fast he’s growing.

Am going to savour closeness, this life I’m/we’re building, and the wide-variety of challenges we choose to face everyday.

Our town’s school is organizing a fundraiser to fix up its school yards. They’re in high need of love and newness. (This and other fundraisers are to supplement the $25,000 that the Ministère de l’Éducation has committed.)

I’ve been thinking about the jobs I’ve had. The jobs I’ve quit. And I’ve been thinking about this killer line in Old Man Luedecke’s I Quit my Job,

all my friends work their dreams with their hands.

and truly this is the promised land.

…don’t let them take the joy that you make.

on your own.

I picked up 10 kilos of honey this week from a strong woman pal who started (professional) beekeeping. It’s beautiful stuff. And I know it wasn’t and isn’t easy. There are no buts about it. Not even a local, food sovereignty, feel good, wholesome « but. » Pretty glorious to make my kids honey tea from this stuff though. Between that and learning that an artist pal (another awe inspiring woman) is starting an artful leather goods business, it’s been a week of good reminders.

My eldest’s school is running a number of fundraisers to upgrade its school yards. We went over there, he and I, during a pd day to take some photos to make a really compelling fundraising pitch for our friends and fam (I had envisioned him making sad faces on the busted swing sets, but he wasn’t really into it). There’s something about the vintage rusty metal park infrastructure and the miscellaneous cement paints that really took my breath away. (Much like the efforts of solid community folks in our village wanting to make a difference). Regardless, if you want a really awesome deal on some toothbrushes, get in touch.

One of the perks of having kids is hands down getting to read oodles of kids books. The combined joy of relatively short reads, simple word play, pleasant repetition, and colourful illustrations, make this genre one of my faves. With less traditional books you also get the bonus of a conversation starter, of a place saver. To talk about race and poverty and residential schools and transphobia and all of the rest.

I got really lucky with these kids of mine, they happen to both really love books too and are happy to spend hours being read to.

Niko Draws a Feeling. Written by Bob Raczka, Illustrated by Simone Shin.

This book is such a gem. A young child is misunderstood for drawing feelings instead of things. He draws an even bigger feeling, which is later understood by a new neighbour friend. It’s totally endearing, beautifully illustrated, and if you’ve ever felt like an oddball, this one will make you smile.

The story of a young girl going around her neighbourhood asking people about their « something beautiful » after talking about the courtyard of her building, which is littered with trash, broken glass and aggressive graffiti. It’s the story of a kid who wants to make her environment her own, who’s surrounded by beauty, and who’s asking the right questions. The illustrations are gorgeous. The text is powerful.

This is the book I give to all of the new babies. It’s perfect. It was also my youngest’s fave for a time, so we know it by heart and recite it. Other collaborations of Van Camp and Flett that we love (but that I keep giving away): ‘My Heart Fills with Happiness’ and ‘We Sang You Home.’ If you want to introduce elements of Indigenous culture to kids, these books are sweet intros.

Clive and His Babies. Written and illustrated by Jessica Spanyol.

A board book filled with kids of different races and boys who take care of their dolls. Those things shouldn’t be noteworthy but they are, so this is a good book to gently challenge stereotypes, already so painfully present in board books.

A sweet read. « Peace is everyone having a home. » « Peace is reading all different kinds of books. » « Peace is having enough pizza in the world for everyone. » Le livre de la paix, en français, et tout aussi adorable.

When We Were Alone. Written by David A. Robertson, Illustrated by Julie Flett.

I don’t know how to do this one justice. What I first loved about it was that it dealt with the challenging issue of residential schools through a conversation between a grandmother and a grand-daughter. The curiosity of the child and the power and strength of the grandmother are palpable. It makes the injustices and the hardships so relatable for young kids who have never had to think about not being able to speak their language, to have their hair long, to wear colours. It’s very gentle and my 5 year old enjoys the book (despite the fact that maman always tears up). I wish I could buy cases of this book and make sure that every school library in this country has a few copies.

I wrote to the author not long ago and he told me a french translation would soon be released by Les Éditions des plaines. Une bonne nouvelle.

The Big Book of Families. Written by Mary Hoffman, illustrated by Ros Asquith.

Some people have sisters, some people live in apartments, some children live with their grandma and grandpa. Some families celebrate this or that, some go on vacations. A solid book that shows that there are so many ways that people can live, and love, and transport themselves.

Joy. Written by Joyce Carol Thomas, Illustrated by Pamela Johnson.

Another favourite board book. This book is a poem, through the seasons, of a parent telling a child the many ways that she/he is her joy. A great read-aloud book.

Sex is a Funny Word. Written by Cory Silverberg, illustrated by Fiona Smyth.

The sequel to « What Makes a Baby » (actually!) and the book you wish you had had when you were 7 or 10 or 12. It’s a pretty solid read when you’re in your thirties too. It makes me really happy that books like this exist.

Amazing Grace. Written by Mary Hoffman, Illustrated by Caroline Binch.

Grace loves stories and dress-up and make-believe. When her class puts on the play Peter Pan and she raises her hand to play the lead role, she’s told (by class-mates) she can’t be Peter Pan first because she’s a girl, second because she’s black. She proves them wrong. Gorgeous illustrations.

Thanks to Octopus Books for ordering all of our English language books. Merci à leslibraires.ca pour la possibilité de commander en ligne de libraires indépendants. And mostly, to the Ottawa Public Library for having non-resident library memberships–for $50 a year, we borrow as many books as we want. So grateful.

these past months, it’s been the ever-present financial worries; the life and farm infrastructure that keeps crapping out on us; the wet, cold summer that has left an important portion of our herds in less than optimal health; the marketing that we aren’t getting to and the inventory we have yet to sell.

it’s knowing that so many farmer pals are in the same boat.

it’s thinking too much about climate change (or the apocalypse), knowing that what we’re doing is part of a solution–that we’re not opting to tinker with a broken system but to offer up and create something that can be sustainable, sustained and sustaining. it’s knowing too that we’re building soil, practising animal husbandry, and selling meats and eggs in a way that’s deeply respectful but certainly not cost effective.

I look at photos of the kids growing up in this place, the knowledge and competence they carry and hone daily (and I know I’m learning too even if my growth isn’t so carefully photographed and documented).. and I see all the food and energy this farm can produce–with our market gardener and co-farmer pals here, with the workshops and free school we’ve hosted, with carving out time and space for political community engagement, and I know it’s worth it. I know it.

but the exhaustion is wearing on me. on us.

(farming with soul is a public service, damn it. it can’t be a struggle every step of the way.)

Woke up to the crisp coolness of autumn. To the reality of being the mother of a school aged child. To the feeling that the season sped by too fast, that the stress levels have been too high, that relational strains take their tolls.

Nevertheless, grateful to be buttoning up sweaters, to be watching this big kid eagerly get on his first big yellow school bus, to be rummaging through to find tuques, and to making our home smell like stewed apples.

In the midst of it all, somehow the garden grew (even the peanut plants this year).

A kind farm dog joined our family, we seeded a lawn (that took!), fed animals, lost track of a few (self-declared free-range) hens given the tallness of our grasses and the low voltage of our fences.

We learned that taking the key out of the quad’s ignition is now a good idea, we hosted a successful pizza oven making workshop, built and played, and used our welding mask to catch glimpses of a solar eclipse.

September brings our freeschool, (unfortunate, unexpected, expensive) foundation work on house #2, trying to solve the lay rate and broken egg dilemma (with more numerous daily visits to gather eggs, and white golf balls in the nesting boxes to maybe confuse them), taking down some old fences, wood pile stacking, and cleaning this place up.

May I get to fall spinach and kale seeding, to blanching bunches of chard, to try my luck at canning, and find peace in a new season’s rhythms.

In early June, we were able to start moving the chicken coop with the 4×4 instead of the tractor (water logged pastures + wagon tire ruts = impossible in May), the whole farm team took in a mob grazing workshop which inspired us and helped us to hone our grazing plan, the grasses grew and grew, as did the pigs.

With all the rains we’ve had (a state of emergency was declared in our area), our co-farmers/second house renters started to notice that not just water was coming into the basement, but soil was as well. Super sub-optimal.

Turns out the cinder block foundation was starting to curve inward. As we’ve done time and again since moving here, we hired a local contractor with an excavator to dig all around the building to lessen the pressure on the compromised walls. Turns out, yes, you can back fill too much.

After many phone calls, evaluation visits, and much form filling and waiting, we learned that the insurance would not cover any of the costs. I won’t lie, it was devastating.

P. & I opted to make massive farm investments this year, mostly to start doubling the cow herd, to be able to hire the lovely (and competent!) employees we’ve been working with since May. For our quality of life, having this farm provide an income for our family plus full time staff is key. It means more manageable workloads, time for both parents to see these beautiful kids grow, and better work-life balance for all.

All this to say, the next two-three years were already going to be quite tight. This massive new expense, and these structural problems that can’t be ignored if we don’t want to lose the house entirely, feel a lot like another truckload of straw trying to break the camel’s back.

Despite the growing anxiety, the hope and beauty of this place live on and carry me. Our beloved Ayrshire dairy cow, Jo Petra, had her calf, Frankie. The kids’ tenderness around fresh life is forever heartwarming. As is their utter lack of surprise or disgust as they discover and inquire about the after birth, the placenta. (It would seem that the time is ripe to plant their placentas under trees).

As we had planned to last autumn, yesterday, our excavator pal came back to dig our new entrance way. Instead of having our entrance come up right next to the house, it’ll now come up on the other side of our kitchen garden. This means that all of the large trucks, farm machinery, etc. will be further away from our daily outdoor living/playing space.

For right now though it just means more mud, more forever-construction-feel. Some of us enjoy that more than others.

I take solace in the thought that we’re single-handedly creating a whole lot of jobs, contributing a great deal to the local economy, and to rural life at a time when governments seem intent on driving all rural dwellers and agricultural people to urban centres.

Here’s hoping for some sun to keep the basements dry, the germination rates from plummeting, and our herds’ health where they needs to be.